Rugrats
by becs1
Summary: The gang is in first grade. Ah, 1992. Superman and the Power Rangers - together at last! Kinda. Well, Clark and the gang are six. Take it from there. Chapter 4 is up (finally!), and reviews are more than greatly apprieciated!
1. Show 'n' Tell

[A/N: This fic is the accumulation of everything I have learned so far watching "Smallville" and reading at FanFiction.Net. It's kinda like one of those final exams I have to take this week. Well, that's a stretch. Here's what you need to know before you read: A) the gang is in first grade, so they're around 6 B) I stole the 'show and tell' idea from Mallory's brilliant "The Making of a Hero" C) I'm not sure if this is in character for six-year-olds, since it's been a while since I thought like that. Also, I threw in a lot of former FOTWs for fun, so enjoy! And please REVIEW! You know you want to. See, I got ideas for two more chapters after this, plus "Secrets of Secrets" and "Remember Me" are in progress, so if you want me to go back to any of them, you must review. Yes! Now read!]  
  
  
  
Rugrats  
  
Chapter 1 - Show & Tell  
  
"Oh, Kimberly. You know I fight evil," Pete paused for effect, "just for you." He raised his voice to sound feminine.  
  
"I love you Jason! Be careful, Rita's a mean one," he said, stressing every word with the dramatic widening of his eyes. Slowly but surely, he pushed the two action figures together, and just as they were about to touch at the helmet-  
  
"Pete! Man, that's gross!" Clark contorted his face in disgust. "What is it with you and girls? You know they got cooties. It's dangerous!"  
  
Pete smirked - or as close to a smirk as a six-year-old got. "Like you wouldn't do this with, say, Lana Lang for example." He gestured over the playful first grader a table over, who was giggling with Tina Greer and playing with their Barbies.  
  
"Eww, no!" retorted Clark, who could hardly bear to look at the girl. "She doesn't even like Power Rangers!"  
  
As if on cue, Lana looked up and smiled at the duo. But just as she was about to abandon her gal-pal for the boys, the teacher clapped her hands impatiently. "In your seats, boys and girls! It's time to start!" She bent over and set her hands on her knees so she was barely eye-level with the toddlers. "It's Show and Tell day, you know."  
  
Most of the class cheered, while a few rebels groaned childishly. This earned frowns from their neighbors. Clark was among the groaners, but Pete was grinning ear to ear.  
  
"Why is this fun again?" Clark asked his friend in a whisper.  
  
"Because," he leaned over and proudly displayed his two figurines. "I gots two. Think she'll give me an extra sticker for the chart?"  
  
"But I don't got any!" whined the taller of the two, making sure their teacher couldn't hear. "I got nothin' to show."  
  
"Nothing?" Pete seemed impossibly appalled by this. "No baby blankets or stuffed animals, even? That's always somethin' good." Clark shook his head violently, but didn't respond. He didn't trust himself enough to remind Pete of his adoption without bursting into tears. Again.  
  
Suddenly, Pete seemed to remember. "Here," he said, sliding a Power Ranger under the table into Clark's outstretched hands. "Enjoy. And say you got it last weekend. Don't want Miss Suggett yellin' at me."  
  
Clark grinned in gratitude and appreciation. Pete couldn't help but return the megawatt smile.  
  
"Pete, just what are you so happy about?" the teacher called to the back of the room. Some girls in the corner, including Lana and Tina, giggled.  
  
"Just excited 'bout Show and Tell, Miss Suggett. That sure is all. Yuppers." He nodded with each sentence to accentuate his point.  
  
"Then you wouldn't mind presenting first?" It wasn't a question, but a kind command. Every child in the class knew it, and Pete was no exception. He stood and marched to the front of the class.  
  
"For Show and Tell," he addressed the class with the standard introduction, "I brought my favorite Mighty Morphin' Power Ranger, the red one. His dinosaur is the T-rex, which is my favorite. His name is Jason, and he lives in Angel Grove." Clark began, with the rest of the class, to applaud the presentation. But still, Pete continued with his last comment persistently. "I think he and Kimberly should go out."  
  
At this, the class erupted in a fit of giggles, laughter, and shouts. Most of the children watched the new action show every day when the got home from school, and were well versed in the characters, plots, and villains. They all knew that - while the red and pink rangers had obvious affection and were the most logical couple of the group, it was not intended to be believed. It was a show designed for first graders like themselves and, as Clark had addressed earlier, girls and boys were somewhat allergic to each other. The only cure was the fabled Cootie Shot, and those were very expensive.  
  
Pete blushed a bit, and then eased back to his seat. Clark gave a smile of approval, but his friend didn't miss the crimson blush that accompanied it.  
  
The teacher looked over her pupils, and chose the least anxious-looking one. "Lana, would you like to come up and present?"  
  
The chipper girl nodded and stood near her chair. She reached behind her neck, and fiddled with a small mechanism with the utmost care. Slowly but surely, she removed her necklace.  
  
The class "ooh"-ed and "aah"-ed at the silver chain that supported an over- sized green gem that cast an eerie glow in the dim light of the corner. It spun tentatively to right, and then reversed. The first-graders gaped in awe.  
  
"This is my favorite necklace," the girl announced proudly. "My aunt Nell gave it to me when she became my mommy." Lana was interrupted by a hand shot in the air.  
  
"Greg?" the teacher called, curious as to what the boy would have a question about in the middle of such an emotional presentation.  
  
"What happened to your real mommy?"  
  
Silence settled over the small nursery that housed the class. Most of the children knew what happened to the Langs and others like them that fateful day three years before. It was a touchy subject that the children were taught to ignore and avoid at all costs. But what could stop curious toddlers who had been mere babies when this remarkable event took place?  
  
Lana furrowed her brow. "They got smooshed by a… by a…" She stopped and sniffled back tears and a stray booger. "This is a piece of the meteor." She sat abruptly.  
  
The children marveled as their teacher fumbled a bit on the touchy subject, but she quickly regained her stamina and attempted to smooth things over.  
  
"Lana, would you like to pass your beautiful necklace around?" The girl nodded hesitantly. As if reading her mind, the teacher warned her students to be very careful. "That necklace means a lot to Lana, boys and girls."  
  
Lana handed the necklace to Tina, who experimentally tried it on. When its owner gave a disapproving glare, Tina abruptly passed it on to Greg Arkin, the curious boy at the next table. He tentatively sniffed the gem, and then gave it to Eric Summers next to him. As if he felt the sorrow in it, he quickly handed it to Shawn Kelvin. The boy rolled it in his hands, then playfully tossed it at Jodie Melville, who gawked at the steadily growing glow before Shawn muttered, "She'll probably try to eat it." A couple of the kids laughed, and this earned a disappointed look for their teacher. Pete frowned. Jodie embarrassingly offered it to a couple of chatting children. When Amy and Sasha wouldn't accept it, she shyly slipped it to Pete, carefully brushing her hand against his. Pete accepted the jewel with a blush.  
  
"Look at this, man. It killed Lana's parents." The boys stared in wonder. Pete gestured for Clark to take it so he can pass it to Erica Fox at the next table.  
  
As the taller boy took it, he immediately wiped a bead of sweat that had magically appeared on his temple. His stomach was doing massive somersaults, his mouth went dry. Before he knew what was happening, he dropped the necklace instinctively and collapsed to his knees. Erica noticed this, and quickly shot her hand into the air.  
  
"Miss Suggett! Clark fell!"  
  
Meanwhile, Pete was desperately trying to talk to his friend.  
  
"Clark! Clark-man! Are you okay? Talk to me!"  
  
The raven-haired six-year-old struggled to his feet. This must be what sick feels like, he decided. It was a sensation he had never felt before, but he had heard his parents and Pete mention being ill. He had longed to see what it was like, but he never realized it was so unpleasant.  
  
"I'm fine, Miss Suggett. I just feel sick, is all."  
  
"Then we should get you to the nurse!" the woman exclaimed, and shakily directed Pete to accompany Clark to the nurse's office.  
  
As soon as he left the room, Clark felt better. The sickness had left him, the desire to vomit eradicated. Still, he had seen Pete act sick for days at a time, and figured that it would be odd to have a sudden recovery. His parents had told him many times that there would be things he would need to keep from his friends, and he decided this was one of them. He feigned nausea all the way through the halls, and let Pete support him. When they got to the office, the young nurse immediately diagnosed a 24-hour bug, and called his parents to pick him up. Pete waved goodbye, and started back towards the classroom with a heartfelt "Feel better, man."  
  
Ten minutes later, Martha rushed in. She worriedly grabbed Clark and moaned "My baby, my baby." The first-grader enjoyed the attention, but not in front of the pretty nurse. He forcefully dragged his mother by the hand, hopped into the truck's cab, and buckled his seatbelt readily. Martha shrugged, and drove off towards the Kent Farm. 


	2. Playing Pretend

[A/N: So here's Chapter 2. Finally, eh? I had a dry spell for a while there, and for that I am sincerely sorry. But I'm still alive, not to worry. I think this is the longest single chapter I've written to date. I've got the inspirational powers of Incubus and Dispatch to thank for that. But there'll be a steady stream of updates for a while, because I've taken the liberty of mapping out the next 4 or 5 chapters. Intuitive! By the way, if anyone has any ideas about "Secrets of Secrets", one of my other fics in progress, lemme know. I don't wanna stop that one, or this one either, for that matter! So it's in your hands. You must review! But read this first, of course.]  
  
Chapter 2 - Playing Pretend  
  
Martha Kent couldn't help but smile contentedly to herself as she glanced over at her precious little boy, now perched precociously on his stomach in front of the Kent's single television, waving his feet in the air to the tune of the "Care Bears" theme song. As a new Barbie commercial popped up in replacement of the bright cartoon, Clark turned to his mother suddenly.  
  
"I feel better now, Mommy. Can I call Pete and ask him to come over?"  
  
Martha sighed in confusion. "Don't you have the 24-hour bug, honey? By my watch, it's only been 30 minutes."  
  
Clark just shrugged, bringing his shoulders up to his ears and down again in one quick, yet majestic, motion. It was a trait he had obviously developed from mimicking Jonathon.  
  
She let out another audible breath, this time in disbelief, and sat daintily on the couch behind her son. "Clark, baby, did you fake your sickness?"  
  
The lively six-year-old shook his head back and forth with surprising rigor. "Nuh-uh, Mom. That would be Wrong. I just hurted, is all."  
  
"So much so that it scared your teacher, Pete, and that Erica girl half to death?"  
  
"I guess. I was okay one second, and then I was really sick. Isn't that what usually happens? I mean, when you and Dad and Pete are sick?"  
  
The distressed mother invited her son to sit in her lap, an invitation to which he obliged willingly. "That's not quite how it normally works, sweetie," she said carefully.  
  
Clark nodded his head as he quickly scurried back to the TV.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Oh, dear, this won't be easy, Martha said to herself as she prepared herself.  
  
"Clark, honey, remember that talk we had about having to keep some secrets?" Clark did, and he nodded to tell her so. "Well, baby, this'll have to be another one to add to our little list. See, you might get sick differently than me, or Daddy, or Pete. For all I know, you might not get sick at all, and that's what I thought until today. I don't know what it is that made you sick, but we'll find out, because it doesn't seem to make other people sick. You're just going to have to hang in there and pretend for a while that you do get sick like us. Can you do that, sweet? Do you know what I'm saying?"  
  
"A.little," he responded, retreating a bit. "I can do that; I mean, lie and stuff."  
  
"Oh honey! No, that's not what I mean at all!" This is going down the toilet! she thought. "No, baby, don't lie! Lying is Wrong. Don't do that."  
  
Clark's face contorted in befuddlement. "But.you said.pretend, and don't tell people stuff. Isn't that lying?"  
  
"Well, yes, you're right, to a certain extent," she admitted, taking little Clark onto her lap once more. "But, in your situation, it's more like a game of Pretend. Miss Suggett tells me you like to play Pretend, Clark."  
  
The raven-haired boy couldn't half but nod at the truth. Martha hoped to God that her son might at least look at her, but he remained contemplatively playing with a fray on his already-too-small jeans.  
  
"So," Martha continued, "think of it as if your life is just one big game of Pretend. Doesn't that sound fun, Clark?"  
  
"Not really," Clark scoffed, on the verge of tears. "I like Pretend because you can be anything you want, sure. I mean, I always wanted to be a singer in a band, or a movie star, or a superhero or something, or even just normal." At this, Martha began to protest, but Clark just continued without acknowledging the motion. "But I also like the way you can just turn it off if you want, and go back to being you when Miss Suggett claps her hands. I like when it's not for forever, and you can pick to be a astronaut this time, and it doesn't have to anything to do with the fact that you were a doctor last time. I like the choice, and the freedom." He sniffed and rolled defiantly off his mother again, back to being a complicated toddler after proving his point.  
  
Martha was momentarily paralyzed by this sudden burst of eloquence coming from her son who had only been speaking English for three years. Maybe there was something to this genius theory Jonathon had.  
  
"Okay, Clark, I understand what you're saying," struggled Martha, "but-"  
  
She stopped at a sudden sound, like plastic cracking. She glanced around, and after making sure so one was around and nothing fell, she settled her eyes back on Clark's eager face. Except now, it looked guilty.  
  
  
  
In the three years since the Kent's had adopted Clark, there had been only two remotely strange incidences, not including the meteor shower itself, and the fact that an interstellar space-pod was now rusting in their storm cellar. The second was today's surprise illness, as Clark had never been afflicted by any kind of disease as long as his adoptive parents had known him. This in itself is strange, Martha supposed, but this sudden vulnerability worried her more.  
  
The first odd occurrence was the preceding fall, coinciding with the debut of a new line-up of children's programming. Eager to see Clark fit in with his peers, Jonathon and Martha has allowed their son to watch an hour of television after he returned from the school day, and then have him do his chores.  
  
Martha was thrilled with the new development after observing one unsuspecting Thursday afternoon. Standing in the door frame to the den, she saw her son interact vigorously with a cartoon featuring good-natured bears and rainbows. It was a miracle that it kept her hyper little boy so subdued and mellow. After viewing fifteen minutes of this one-sided interaction, she gave her silent approval and left hey son to his devices.  
  
Exactly 24 minutes later, while coring apples for the night's desert, she heard a crash and a bold outcry from the direction of the den.  
  
"Jonathon!" she called out of instinct while running towards the commotion. Her husband appeared at the kitchen's screen door in record time and asked frantically, "What? Are you okay? Is Clark okay?"  
  
At the door to the den where Martha had stood so peacefully not an hour before, she was now frozen, shell-shocked. Jonathon ran to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, trying very hard not to have a similar reaction.  
  
With a fight scene starring the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers as a backdrop, Clark was having a kung-fu match with the wall. And winning. Jonathon guessed the holes were at least six inches in diameter, and he could see clearly into his bedroom through them.  
  
Martha was the first to recover. She dashed to her son, forcefully clasped her hands around his wrists. She had an odd sense that he could easily break free of her not-so-feeble grasp, but she felt him hold back, and finally give in.  
  
Jonathon hurried to his wife's side at her silent insistence. He bent down at the waist so he was eye-level with Clark.  
  
"Now, I don't know what happened, son," he began, quickly surveying the damage once more, "but it doesn't look too good. Can you tell me who did this?"  
  
An inaudible mumble escaped the small boy's lips.  
  
"Excuse me?" pushed Martha, not to be left out in the discipline.  
  
"Me. I did it." The guilty boy buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.  
  
"H-how?" stammered Jonathon in complete disbelief.  
  
That shrug responded. "I dunno. Felt like it."  
  
Martha sent her husband the we'll-talk-about-this later look as he lead their son to his room. But just before they were gone, she piped in with one more question.  
  
"Clark? What show is this?"  
  
"'Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers'," he said with so much pride the she almost felt guilty to ban it from the house forever.  
  
  
  
"Clark? What was that noise?"  
  
"Dunno," was the sullen response.  
  
"Are you sure?" One thing that Martha Kent knew about her son was that if she asked long enough, he would eventually say anything she wanted him to. Beneath his stubborn six-year-old exterior lay the the heart of a regular George Washington - he could not tell a lie.  
  
Wordlessly, Clark pushed his closed fist toward his mother and opened it slowly. Inside was the battered figure of a pink and white-clad superhero, it's arm detached. Martha had no doubt the damage was the fault of her son (how he did it, she still had no clue), but where he had gotten the tiny statue was beyond her.  
  
  
  
Martha suddenly flashed back to this month's trip to the Wal-Mart outside Metropolis. She remembered skimming through the toy section in search of a gift for Clark and dwelling on a display of action figures that seemed to be very popular. The only reason she had not snatched one up with its sale price was the cardboard sign looming over her. MIGHTY MORPHIN' POWER RANGERS. No way, no how was she bringing that violent garbage back to her stable, normal, violence-free home and mucking up the place. Again.  
  
But she had seen Theresa Ross there, with her cart of goodies. She had made small-talk with the woman, and it seemed that Clark and Theresa's son Pete were becoming quite the dynamic duo in their first grade.  
  
"Pete just loves these Power Rangers," gushed the other woman, snatching up two of the action figures. "He's such a little romantic, he's already picked a pairing!" She proudly displayed her choices: a red one, and a pink.  
  
  
  
"Is this Pete's Pink Ranger, young man?"  
  
"Yeah," Clark mumbled so quietly that Martha asked him to repeat himself.  
  
"And how, again, did it come into your custody?"  
  
"Pete let me borrow it for Show an' Tell. You know I don't got nothing to show!"  
  
"You do, so, have things to show at Show and Tell, young man! I will show you next week, when you have to bring something in of your own. Did you tell the teacher that this was yours?"  
  
Clark shook his head so that the dark hairs flew about his face. "Miss Suggett never got to me. I got sick in the middle of Lana's turn."  
  
Martha nodded at the realization. "And you never got to give Pete his Pink Ranger back?"  
  
This time the shake of Clark's head was positive. He glanced at the clock quickly, then told his mother that he better get to Pete quickly, because he'll be missing his toy.  
  
"Alright," sighed Martha, and she went to call Theresa about a play date. 


	3. Banter

[A/N: As promised, the next chapter. This is kind of an interlude between one little storyline to another. It was really fun, too. It's just a dialogue-only between Clark and Pete watching "Power Rangers". And it gave me a great opportunity to let my other obsession loose. Good thing I had a couple original "Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers" comic books to use as a reference. By the way, I just recently realized (duh!) that I should probably credit ScoobyGal55 for the whole Power Rangers idea by slipping it into her story, "All that I want, All that I hated." Thanks, babe! Aw, and I only got two reviews last chapter! Very disappointing. Though I was very flattered by LaCasta's praise ( So you guys gotta review this time, 'kay? Thanks!]  
  
Chapter 3 - Banter  
  
"Hey Pete!"  
  
"Hiya, Clark. Are you feeling better?"  
  
*pause* "A little. But Mom says it's not contagious or anything."  
  
"What's kent-ay-jus?"  
  
"Dunno. So whatcha doin'?"  
  
"Watchin' 'Power Rangers,' a' course! Are you comin'? The TV's in the living room."  
  
"I don't think so. Ma says I can't watch it ever again."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
*pause* "Dunno."  
  
"Did your mom really say that you couldn't watch it ever again?"  
  
"Well, I think she said, *imitating high woman's voice* 'This show will never be on in this house ever!'"  
  
"Then you can watch!"  
  
"Really? How?"  
  
"Watch it here! It's not on in your house or anything!"  
  
"Right! Let's go!"  
  
  
  
"Wouldn't it be cool to be a superhero?"  
  
"Nah, not really."  
  
"Whaddaya mean, 'not really'?? It would be the most awesomest thing in the whole wide world!"  
  
"I don't think so, Pete. I mean, it seems like an awful lot of work."  
  
"Oh, it's nothing for them. It's the Power Rangers we're talking about here!"  
  
"But it's on the TV. Mom says that's different than real life."  
  
"That can't be true. Look, it's real people, not a cartoon like those stupid Care Bears!"  
  
"Well, if that's so real, how come we don't get big ol' monsters in Smallville?"  
  
"Because they all live in Angel Grove, silly!"  
  
"I asked my dad if we could take a vacation to Angel Grove once. He didn't know where it was."  
  
"Humph."  
  
"But look: that guy loves the Power Rangers, but they can't tell him who they are, even though they want to. They gotta keep secrets from all their friends and stuff! That can't be fun."  
  
"Well, that's the only thing I don't like about this show. If Ernie knew that Jason and everybody else were really the Power Rangers, he'd be on top of them like the hair on your head. And who doesn't want that? My sister wants to be a rock star for that very reason. I just think they're afraid Zordon and Alpha will yell if they tell anyone."  
  
"But I don't wanna be yelled at by a dis-bodied head. Doncha see? They gotta, like, have two lives or somethin'! That's gotta be hard!"  
  
"I dunno. I still wanna be a superhero. They got superpowers! Doncha want that even?"  
  
"Maybe. I mean, would I be able to tell you about it?"  
  
"Wouldn't you tell me anyway? I'm your best friend, man!"  
  
"I guess it depends, huh?"  
  
"You're a weird kid, Clark. A weird kid."  
  
"Shut up, Pete." *pause* "So what's happening now?"  
  
"Duh. They're morphing."  
  
"So what do dinosaurs have to do with anything?"  
  
"It's where they get their power, I think."  
  
"Huh." *pause* "Pete?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Is the Sun a dinosaur?"  
  
"Um.I don't think so. Why?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"O.k."  
  
"Where did they learn all this kung-fu stuff?"  
  
"I think Zordon taught them. Jeez, Clark, you're asking really tough questions."  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't watch this as much as you."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"Whoa! That's a totally rad robot!"  
  
"I know! The Mega-Zord rules!"  
  
"I wish I had one of those!"  
  
"Hey! I do!" *rushes out, then back in the room*  
  
"Where'd you get this? Wal-Mart?"  
  
"Naw, Mom and I went to the McDonald's in Hillsboro and it came with the Happy Meal. It's not really as big as the real Mega-Zord, but-"  
  
"But it's really cool! I don't have any toys like this!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. All I gots is trucks and stuff Dad gets from the gas station for Christmas."  
  
"That stinks, man."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"If we were superheroes, we could fly around the world and pick up heavy stuff and people would just give us toys!"  
  
"Really? Just for pickin' up heavy stuff? I do that anyway!"  
  
"Cool! Can you teach me?"  
  
"Um.I don't think so."  
  
"Well why not?"  
  
"My mom would start yellin' about getting hurt an' stuff."  
  
"Aw, that's too bad. Maybe when we're older and moms aren't that worried about that kinda thing. Mom usually isn't so worried when Jenna gets a paper cut. But you'll hafta remind me in, like, ten years, 'kay?"  
  
"'Kay." *pause* "Why do the Power Rangers always wear the same colors?"  
  
"'Cause it's their colors, a'course! Like, Jason always wears red and stuff 'cause he's the red ranger. Geddit?"  
  
"I guess. But then wouldn't Ernie figure them out then?"  
  
"Well, he hasn't so far, right?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"So there ya go." *pause* "So what happened with you today?"  
  
"I really don't know, Pete. It was weird, like. *pause* um, it was normal weird. Yeah, weird like normal. Isn't it weird when you get sick sometimes? Like, surprising?"  
  
"Are you sure you're better, Clark?"  
  
"Um, yeah. Why?"  
  
"No reason. You're just acting weird. Like a mystery."  
  
"Huh. Really?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh, here's Kimberly back! I forgot to give it back when I got sick, and took it home on accident."  
  
"Thanks! Jason missed her, y'know."  
  
"I still say girls got cooties."  
  
"And I still say you're a weird kid, Clark. A weird kid." 


	4. Whooping Whitney

[A/N: Okay, so I admit it: joedan84 beat me to (posting) this concept with her cute little ficlet, "Splinters and Broken Hinges." But, truth be told, I had this in the works anyway, and it's mostly why I started this story in the first place. And joedan84 didn't have THIS bully. Ha! So I'm glad I'm finally posting this. To anyone spotting tense problems: I know they're there. It's a tough spot for me. Also, this one's kind of short after such a long delay, but I have to finish my homework, and I didn't have much more to say. Plus, I like the ending. The story's not over yet; the next chapter will get into the consequences of these actions, but not yet. Thanks to all my reviewers - you guys are my best friends! deanine: I'm being consistent! LaCasta: you rock! ScoobyGal55: but you ARE famous!! Please, can I have some more?]  
  
Chapter 4 - Whooping Whitney  
  
Freak meteor showers and alien toddlers aside, Smallville Elementary was your normal small-town school. It had its pretty, young teachers and devoted class mothers. There were rowdy boys and giggling girls.  
  
And then, there was Smallville Elementary's very own bully.  
  
He wasn't the in the highest grade, nor was he the tallest or strongest boy on the playground. But since his growth spurt right after the meteor shower, he had gone from teeny to tyrant. It was unmistakable: the way the 4th grader strutted about in his oversized Metropolis Sharks jersey and torn grunge-era jeans, he had gained the utmost respect of every boy and girl in the school.  
  
If the young patrons of Smallville had one unspoken rule, it was this: Revere Whitney Fordman.  
  
Despite all this, our young hero doesn't exactly fear for his life. He's not exactly defiant, no; what first grader would be with a boy three years his senior? But a deep, distant, primal instinct tells him that there's no real danger. For him, anyway. He's seen boys and girls alike, bruised and battered, heading home early and blaming Whitney all the way.  
  
Clark ponders this as Miss Suggett explains words that begin with 'ph'. What, exactly, was so intimidating about this particular boy? He has asked his mother this one day, shortly after returning from watching Greg's beating, the third time this month. Martha had sent a soft smirk his way, mumbled something about being a "future womanizer", and explained cautiously. She said that some people needed to put other people down to feel good about themselves, simply because they could. At the flash of realization in her strong little boy's eyes, she quickly amended her statement, explaining that Clark could, and should, make a difference by being as nice as he could to people.  
  
The reverie is interrupted by Pete, who leans in and whispers, "I bet Whitney Fordman can't even read. What an idiot!" Clark quickly realizes then that someone so mean to his peers can't be appreciated by them. What a sad existence.  
  
The young class is released for recess after their reading lesson, and Pete grabs his Power Rangers and heads out close on Clark's heels.  
  
"Clark! Wait up, man! Not so fast!!" Clark obeys, and Pete shoots ahead of his friend to the equipment shed, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. "I have to tell you about the new 'Power Rangers' episode! See, there's this new guy, Tommy, and-"  
  
The raven-haired boy stops abruptly behind him. "Pete? What is it?" he asks, puzzled.  
  
"Wuh. . .wuh. . ." Clark cranes his neck up and spots him.  
  
Whitney.  
  
"What are you doing, you little twerp?" spits out the bully menacingly.  
  
Pete manages to mumble a response. "Nothing, sir. R-really."  
  
"Huh. I don't believe you." He reaches down and pulls Pete up by the collar. The action figures drop to the ground with a clink of plastic. Whitney drops the boy like he's a particularly stinky poo and reaches for the toys.  
  
"What are these, Ross? Dolls? Man, I knew you were a sissy, but to be playing with the Pink Ranger? That's low, man."  
  
"I. . .Kimberly's only there 'cause she's pretty. . ." pants Pete, obviously in pain.  
  
The fourth grader gasps, appalled. "'Pretty'? What smack are you talkin', Ross? Girls have cooties, we all know that!" Clark has the decency to duck his head in embarrassment. "They're gonna be taking over the playground soon enough. We can't have ninnies like you and Kent running all over the place when that happens! It looks like I have no choice but to beat the baby outta you, Ross. It's for your own good, remember that!" He draws his fist back, and Pete cowers in his shadow in utter fear.  
  
Clark's jaw drops. He's going to hit Pete. As much as Clark doesn't want that to happen, his parents have told him enough to not get involved in this kind of thing.  
  
"Can you imagine," his mother said once after hearing more of the bully's exploits, "if someone much stronger than Whitney stepped up to the plate? Especially if he was, say, three whole years younger. Someone's sure to become curious. I would, wouldn't you?"  
  
He didn't want anyone to think of him any less than normal, even if he had to be a wimp in Whitney's eyes. Retaliation was not an option.  
  
Clark was brought out of it by the sound of Pete's sobs. The black eye was already forming, and blood dripped mercilessly from his nose. Whitney reared, ready to give the final blow, when something in Clark snapped, noisily and fast. Before he knew what he was doing, he had shot in front of his friend, blocked Whitney's fist with his own, and calculated the trajectory to the door of the nearby equipment shed.  
  
There was nothing left to do but shove.  
  
Splinters flew every which way, and the two friends turned sharply to avoid them. The wooden door that had been there for thirty years - even surviving the meteor shower - had been reduced to mere toothpicks and kindling. Whitney lay in the middle of the mess, covered in dust and mud. He tried to sit up, but just fell back again, floppy blonde hair covering his face. Pete turned to his savior, eyes as wide as saucers.  
  
"Umm. . .Clark?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Should I even ask?"  
  
"Probably not."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The whistle blew, calling the children back in. Whitney stared, befuddled, at the retreating backs of the two first graders. He heard Pete inquire, half-proudly, half-frightened:  
  
"Hey, Clark. Ever think of becoming a Power Ranger?" 


End file.
